


I won't give up

by knlalla



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: 2012 Phan, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, BBC Radio 1, Break Up, Complete, Eventual Happy Ending, M/M, Phanfiction, Songfic, Swearing, i put a disgusting amount of research into this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-07
Updated: 2017-10-07
Packaged: 2019-01-10 04:33:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12291342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knlalla/pseuds/knlalla
Summary: Dan and Phil break up because Phil's tired of the "I'm not gay" attitude Dan puts on in front of his viewers, and Dan tries to fix it. (Dan POV)Songfic insp. by I Won't Give Up On Us (Jason Mraz) andthe BBC 1 Radio Show momentwhen the song was playing. I recommend watching the clip first.This is purely a work of fiction, I do not own Dan & Phil.





	I won't give up

_“I won’t give up on us,”_

I know, I know I shouldn’t do it, but I bump Phil just a bit. I know we’re on camera, I know what his reaction will be, what we _agreed_ it should be, but I can’t be bothered to care. _He knows how much this song means to me_. 

_“Even if the skies get rough,”_

I glance over, hoping that maybe he’ll sneak me a small smile. He looks up, meeting my gaze for half a second, then we both turn to face the camera.

_“I’m giving you all my love,”_

Watching it back later, Phil’s giving his trademark “what a weirdo” look and I’m trying to pretend it didn’t happen. 

_“I’m still looking up…”_

It never fails to surprise me, though, that he finds the little ways to say he knows, he cares, he loves me. I watch him bump me back, though it looks like he’s swaying along to the song, and I smile, even now.

\----------------------------------------------

_(A year earlier)_

“Look, Dan, I can’t keep doing this. I’ve given you time, I’ve given you space, I’ve given you _everything I have_. I just...maybe this was a mistake.” 

My heart rips in half.

“What do you mean, a _mistake_?” I know I’m shouting, but I can’t help it. Two years, and he thinks it’s a _mistake_? “I can’t help the fact that my audience would _hate me_ if I came out! You can’t just…” I don’t even know how to finish the sentence, so I drop heavily to the couch instead. My hands cradle my head, and I spend a few tense moments fighting back the tears threatening to spill from my eyes.

“Dan, you’re being unreasonable. I’ve said it a million times, nobody would _hate_ you. I’m not…” Phil breaks off, sighing. “I’m not asking you to choose, but it’s not just the hiding. It’s the fact that you act so... _disgusted_ whenever anyone suggests that you might be gay, or that we might be together.” Head still in my hands, I feel his weight settle on the couch next to me. _Too far away_.

“You don’t get it, Phil!” I stand, now, frustrated at the gap between us but too cowardly to close it. So I run, I’m always running, but I can’t stop. I can’t turn around and just...let it go. I’m terrified. “People will _stop watching_ , Phil! They might like you just fine, but they’ll _stop watching me,_ ” I throw my hands in the air, focusing on the anger to push back the ache in my chest.

“Dan, you know that’s not true,” his voice is never loud - _how on earth is he so calm about this?_ \- and stands, walking to the kitchen. “I think it might be time for a break, Dan. I think...I think you need some time to figure yourself out.” _Is he serious?_ I can feel my hands shaking, but I can’t move, I can’t even _breathe_. 

“ _Phil,_ ” I manage to choke out, and I know it sounds more like a sob. But he’s in the kitchen, reaching for something in the pantry, and I shove the pain down. I pull the anger out instead. I _know_ how petty I’m being, but it hurts and I just don’t care. “Fine! If that’s how it’s going to be, then _fine_.” I feel the words bubble up in my throat and I know exactly what they’ll do to us, to Phil, to _me_ , but I say them anyway.

“ _I never even loved you!_ ” I shout, storming from the lounge and down the hall to my room. 

\---------------------------------------------

I try to avoid him, but we live in the same apartment, and I see him far too often for my aching heart. We keep such a similar schedule - force of habit - and I school my face into a scowl every time he meets my gaze.

Eventually, he stops trying to catch my eye. Somehow, that hurts more.

Days pass, then weeks, and we say so little to each other. _I miss his voice_. I know it’s stupid, _I’m_ being stupid, but I’ve gone too far down this path and I don’t know how to fix it. I’m spiraling.

So I watch his videos. I watch _every single one_ , maybe ten times over. And it’s the worst form of torture. Sometimes, when I’m laying awake at night, I’ll play them on repeat and let the dull throb in my chest lull me into a restless sleep.

At first, I don’t dream much; I blame the mental and emotional exhaustion. But after two weeks, I start dreaming again. A lot. About Phil. It starts off bizarre, like he’s on my mind so frequently that he just becomes a character in whatever odd situation my brain has decided to conjure, but it quickly evolves; I’m not dreaming about him, I’m dreaming about _us_.

How we met, every touch, every whispered “I love you”, every soft smile meant for me alone, his blue eyes closing just before a kiss, his hands in my hair as he pulls me closer, curling up against him at night, just talking.

So I stop sleeping. I can’t handle waking up in tears; the dreams are worse than every nightmare I’ve ever had, because I have to get up and face this painful reality.

\--------------------------------------------

After a few sleepless nights, I finally manage to decide on an idea for my next video. _Have to keep the masses appeased,_ I muse, laughing bitterly at my own misfortune. _The masses who I keep blaming for my current situation_. I shake my head, setting my laptop aside and standing. _No, this isn’t them. I know it’s my fault, I know I broke us, but I just….can’t…_

I open the door to my room to see the door across from it - Phil’s - is half-open, and the room is dark - he must be in the lounge or kitchen. Each step is an effort, doubt and fear weighing my legs down, demanding I return to my room.

I’d crafted this master plan to get Phil’s help filming some of the skits in my next video - I could’ve done something else, something that didn’t require his help, but I can’t spend another day with us dancing around each other, eyes glued to the floor, heavy silence around us and an impenetrable space between us. I can’t spend another night locked in my room, sobs covered by loud music that I don’t listen to because I’m listening to _Phil,_ watching his videos again, wishing he would just _talk to me_.

I want things to go back to normal. I don’t know if they will, or if they even _can_ , but I can’t keep doing this, it’s tearing me apart.

\----------------------------------------------

“Phil?” My voice is hoarse from tears and lack of use, so I clear my throat and try again. “Phil?” I’m sure he’s heard me this time, but he doesn’t look up from his laptop. I take a moment to study him, to appreciate the reality of him. My body doesn’t want to move, doesn’t want to break the calm of the moment.

 _I need him back_. That thought _does_ break my trance, so I plow ahead. “I’m, uh, filming something. Do you, I mean, if you have a minute, would you be able to, uh, help with some filming? It’ll only take a second, I promise, I’ll make it super quick, I-” I know I’m rambling, but he hasn’t looked up, hasn’t said a word, and I’m worried he _won’t_ , that he’ll just ignore me.

“Sure,” he’s still focused on his screen; he hasn’t moved an inch, but his voice catches me entirely off guard. As does his answer. My heart soars for a moment before I grab it from the air, pull it back down, and lock it inside my chest. _Don’t fuck this up, Dan, he’s only just agreed to help with a video, he’s not back, we aren’t back together, don’t get too excited, just act casual_. I try not to let my overwhelming hope show, but I can’t stop the tiny smile from reaching my face. _He said yes._

\-------------------------------------------------------

After we’ve filmed - and I did my best to keep things quick, as promised - Phil seems, well, not _normal,_ but less aloof. I try to match his behavior, spending some time in the lounge and kitchen during the day instead of holed up in my room.

 _But that space between us, it’s still there. How do I fix that? Can it even be fixed?_ I scroll aimlessly, answer some emails, but I’m dying to talk to him. To share the easy banter we had before, to lean on his shoulder as we watch a movie, to be _anything_ like we were before.

Another few days have passed this way, where I make some attempts at talking, at engaging him, at finding that comfort I used to feel around him, before I give up. He’s still mostly quiet, though he gives me more than a word or two a day and isn’t avoiding me completely. So I decide it’s about time to edit that video.

In the office, I plug my camera in and import the files. Instead of immediately going into editing mode, I watch through the clips. _I look sick_ , I can’t help but stare at the bags under my eyes, sticking out like bruises against my pale skin. The skin which seems stretched more tightly across my face, across my collarbones which stick out more than usual. I sigh again, resting my head on my arms. _Viewers will definitely notice that_. 

I slam a fist on the desk, and the mouse and camera rattle. _Stupid fucking viewers, they’re why I’m in this mess to begin with_. I slam my fist down again, but it lacks the earlier force. _No, it’s not them. I know it isn’t. This is_ my _fault._

I look back to the screen and close the editing software. I pull up Phil’s channel, his side channel this time, and play his videos on a loop until my eyes glaze over and I’m barely seeing his face, barely hearing what he’s saying. I lean back in the chair, closing my eyes, and just listen to the sound of his voice. _He’s said more to me as a viewer in the past five minutes than he’s said to me as Dan in over a month._ The thought floats through my head as I fall into something resembling sleep.

\-----------------------------------------------------

“Dan?” Phil’s voice, I must’ve left the videos going. “ _Dan,_ wake up!” Wait. _Phil’s never told me to wake up...in a video..._ my brain finally catches up with my surroundings and my eyes fly open. Fortunately, the computer screen is black - it must’ve shut off while I was asleep. 

At this exact moment, I realize Phil’s hand is on my shoulder. He must notice it as well, as he pulls back like I’m on fire. I try not to let it sting, but it does anyway.

“Uh, sorry, I must’ve fallen asleep while editing,” I lie, and he nods. But doesn’t leave.

“D’you mind if I edit for a bit?” His voice is quiet, and I’m struck speechless at how many words he just said, all in one string, to _me_.

“Yeah! Yeah, sure, of course! Uh, let me, uh…” I trail off - I would really prefer he _doesn’t_ see what I was actually doing when I fell asleep. But he isn’t leaving, and I can’t wake the computer up without him seeing the screen, so I just go for it, trying to close the window with his videos as quickly as I can. I feel the flush creep up my cheeks as I vacate the chair, avoiding his eyes.

If he notices, he doesn’t say anything. I unplug my camera and leave the room in a rush, making a beeline for my room.

I don’t see him for the rest of the day, and only a few times in passing over the next week. I’m back to spending the majority of my time in my room, partly because I’m worried he might bring up the videos I was watching and partly because I don’t want him to catch me watching them again.

After a week of hiding from my embarrassment, I enter the kitchen and notice Phil asleep on the sofa. I’ve gotten fairly adept at avoiding him, actually planning my forays from my bedroom around his schedule - he’s usually asleep by now. _Granted, technically he_ is _asleep_. I allow myself to study his face, so peaceful when it isn’t mad at me, or avoiding me.

His glasses have slipped down his nose, and he looks kind of adorable; a small smile pulls at the corners of my lips. I exit the kitchen, making my way across the lounge to the couch, and hover next to him for a moment. _Fuck it_. As gently as I can, I pull his glasses from his face and set them on the coffee table. He barely stirs, and I smile again, just a little, at how happy he looks - _he always looks so happy, even when he’s asleep. I miss that,_ I can feel my face contorting in a frown as I try to push back memories.

His fringe has fallen in his face as well, and I brush it aside, out of his eyes. Now he shifts a bit more, so I back up, hoping he won’t wake to find me standing over him. _He’d probably just ask what I was doing, or maybe ask me to leave - he was never one to get really angry, to yell. That’s always been me._

I marvel at his features again, just a small indulgence, before I take the laptop - precariously balanced on his lap and looking about ready to fall on the floor - with the intention of setting it next to his glasses. 

My finger brushes across the trackpad by mistake - _was it a mistake, though? -_ and the screen wakes up. I inhale sharply at the website on the screen.

 _Youtube. My channel. The AmazingDan video._ I’m thrown back to that day we’d filmed it, heart breaking all over again. It had been Phil’s idea, after the first Phil is not on fire had been so successful. He thought it would help my channel, help me get more views. I was ecstatic just to spend more time with him. 

I frown now. _The next Phil is not on fire is coming up_. His viewers would expect it, would expect us to act the same. Recalling the question about PINOF during a Summer in the City interview a couple months back, and my _disgusted_ reaction, I sigh. Phil shifts, but doesn’t wake up, so I sit on the floor and set the laptop on the coffee table in front of me.

I watch the AmazingDan video, then AmazingDan 2, then all our Phil is not on fire videos, then I watch them all again. And again, and again, until my eyes start to drift closed and reality creeps back in. I blink a few times, clearing my vision, and return to the AmazingDan video. I pause it and close Phil’s laptop before heading back to my own room. Once the door is safely closed behind me, I pull up our channels and make a private playlist of every video we’ve filmed together; I leave it playing through my earbuds as I try to get some sleep.

\-------------------------------------------------------------

When I wake up, light is shining through the cracks in my blinds and my laptop is absolutely dead. Sighing, I plug it in at my desk and decide to head to the kitchen. I almost forget about my rigid timekeeping to avoid Phil when I - quite literally - run into him in the hall.

“I’m sorry!” I say, and my voice cracks. Suddenly, unexpectedly, I’m overwhelmed by everything; I fall the floor and start muttering apologies as tears sting my eyes. “ _I shouldn’t have, I didn’t realize, I miss you, I hate this, I don’t want…_ ” The carpet is blurry beneath me, and I know I’m absolutely _losing it_ , but… “I’m so sick,” I pause as a sob escapes between breaths, “of this,” I try to breathe in, but it gets caught in my throat, in another sob, “I don’t want,” I repeat, trying to say _anything_ to get him back, to make him understand what I’ve been going through, how much _I miss him_ , “I don’t want to lose you,” I manage to finally get the words out of my mouth before collapsing into a complete mess. 

Through my blurred vision and the hiccups escaping between each heavy breath, I feel Phil’s hand on my shoulder, I see him crouch next to me.

“Dan,” he looks so sad, and I’m struck by how badly I want him to smile again - how badly I want him to smile at me, _because_ of me - but he doesn’t. “Dan, you need to breathe. We talked about this. We can’t be a couple, I can’t be with you, if you keep acting like I don’t matter, like being with me - or any guy - is a horrifying concept.” 

His hand leaves my shoulder, and it takes my heart with it. I don’t move for a while, letting the sobs die down, the tears stop falling. And then I stay a little longer, letting the gears in my head turn.

\--------------------------------------------------------

We’ve finished filming Phil is not on fire - it’s _fine_ , but I definitely wasn’t myself; I projected our real-life awkwardness into the video. Phil, of course, did magnificently at trying to overcome it, but I felt bad that it wasn’t _perfect_. 

“Ugh, I’m sorry,” I groan, peeking over his shoulder - from a respectable distance - at the raw footage he’s editing. 

“Why are you apologizing?” Phil says, still facing the screen. I collapse into the chair on the other side of the room, my hands reaching up to cover my face.

“I’m so awkward, I was trying to be normal but…” my voice trails off, muffled behind my hands. 

“It’s fine,” his eyes never leave the screen, his voice never changes in pitch. “I’ll just get rid of some of the more uncomfortable bits. Nobody will notice.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to...like...redo it or something?” I know it’s a bit desperate, but I will literally do anything at this point to spend some time around Phil, to have him actually _talk_ to me.

“No, it’s fine. We have plenty of decent footage.” His tone is a painful combination of disappointment and dismissal, and I hope he’s not too frustrated with me.

I hesitate for a moment before leaving him to edit; I figure he just wants to be left alone, and I don’t want him any more annoyed at me. Sitting in the lounge, I turn the TV on and flip it to some channel I have no intention of watching. _Way to go, Dan. Can’t even manage to be normal in front of the camera, the one place that Phil desperately wants me to be myself._

\-----------------------------------------------------------

It’s not my best idea, but I have a plan. Maybe it’ll help, maybe it won’t, but I have to try. 

I’d actually gone outside today, as I had a meeting, and am now late for my liveshow. And just a _little bit_ tipsy.

I spend the first half of the show answering questions, some a bit more bizarre than usual - I think my audience is mildly entertained by “drunk Dan”, so I run with it - and finally find the question in the chat I’d been looking for (it’s asked every liveshow, without fail). Slight intoxication has its benefits, so my inhibitions go out the window and I’m actually going to answer the question... _differently_ this time.

“Are you _sure_ you’re not gay?” I take on a joking tone, hoping to ease my nerves, before answering. “Find me the right guy, who knows what might happen.” I pause, the silence suddenly overwhelming as I look for another question, my heart racing. 

As I continue, the chat is (predictably) flooded with Phan comments, “omg wait r u actually gay”, and the like - but the number of live viewers doesn’t drop, and I don’t see anything horrible as the chat scrolls. And I’m suddenly a bit more confident.

Instead of ending the show right at ten, as I usually would, I decide to keep it going since I’d arrived so late anyway. I go to find Phil. He’s not in the lounge, like I’d expected, and I almost run into him in the kitchen.

Laptop in hand, I aim it his way, and he catches my eye before turning to the webcam and doing his thing. My viewers love him, and us together, and we manage to fall into our roles fairly easily - wine has made my job far simpler, I’m nowhere near as awkward as in PINOF. I pretend not to notice when we’re both leaned forward, sitting in the lounge, and our arms are touching. _I haven’t been this close to him since that night_.

As we end the show, I realize I’m smiling more than I have in months.

“Dan,” Phil’s voice is quiet, and I can’t tell if he’s mad or upset or happy or _what_ , but I turn toward him, though I can’t bring myself to meet his eyes as I prepare my heart for more rejection. “ _Thank you_.” It takes me a full minute to process what he’s said, and I almost forgot what _I’d_ said, during the show - the one he had, as I’d hoped, been watching.

“I, uh, it wasn’t…” I start, but he places a hand on my knee.

“It wasn’t _great_ ,” I can hear the turn in his voice, he must’ve been smirking a bit, “but it’s a start. Thank you.” He goes to stand, and I’m suddenly desperate not to pop this perfect little bubble - I was _happy_ , even just for a minute, and he was talking to me - so I rack my brain for something to say, _anything_ to keep him here.

“Wait!” The urgency in my voice surprises me; it’s a bit louder than I intended, but it does the trick - Phil’s stood there, eyes locked on mine. “Do you want to, uh, maybe watch a movie or something?” I trail off - _he’s still just staring, he’s going to say no, he’s going to leave me again_. The thoughts whir in my head, and I’m fighting back tears again. _I thought we were going in the right direction, I thought things were going to get better_.

And then he’s on the couch next to me - not too close, not like before, but it’s enough. “Sure, what do you want to watch?” And I’m breathing again. I even smile, just a little.

\-----------------------------------------------

Things have gotten...well, _better_ , but there’s still so much space between us. We’re not avoiding each other, but we seem to still be awkward around each other. I’m constantly watching and analyzing every move Phil makes, trying to keep the right distance, the right amount of humor, the right topics of conversation to prevent us from catapulting in the wrong direction. And it’s _exhausting_. 

_But worth it_.

I try to avoid fan questions about my sexuality, as much as I can, and I outright ignore anything having to do with Phil and I. And I make a serious effort to fix the bad habit of objecting so profusely whenever those topics _can’t_ be dodged.

I think Phil’s coming around - we’re spending time together again, just as friends, but still. My heart doesn’t hurt as much, and he’s smiling more, and I’m smiling more, and we could almost be normal.

I’m thinking about this, about us, sitting on my bed - _the one we used to share_ , I frown for a moment. Phil had been sleeping in his bed since our... _can I even call it a break-up? We weren’t exactly “official”._ I sigh. A knock sounds at my door, though it’s open slightly.

“The door’s open, you don’t have to knock, you spoon,” I joke, smiling and turning to the door. As he enters, I realize my music is still playing - a romantic playlist, I was missing him, missing _us_. I quickly pause it. “What’s up?” I say, hoping to distract him from the lingering notes of “I Will Always Love You”.

“Can we talk?” Phil asks, still standing far from the bed. I pat the spot across from me and nod. And try desperately to keep my heart in my chest. “It’s about...us.” _Well, there goes my heart, goodbye!_ Phil sits in front of me, the bed sinking under the added weight. His face is serious, so I drop my teasing demeanor.

“Okay…” I start, not sure where he’s going with this, and my stomach twists up in knots. “What about us?” I hope my voice will stay even. _I hope I don’t end up a bawling mess on the floor again_.

Phil takes a deep breath, exhaling softly, before continuing. “I think...as long as you’re comfortable with being a little more _honest_ about yourself, I think…” he lifts his eyes to meet mine. I’m awestruck, just staring - my mouth might be hung open, but I’m not even sure. “I think we can try again. If you want to,” his gaze drops back to the space between us, and I’m certain I’ve stopped breathing.

“Dan?” I’m paralyzed, I haven’t moved, and Phil’s leaning across the bed, hand waving in front of my face. Have I even blinked? _Funny_ , my mind chimes in, _that’s usually Phil’s thing_.

Then my laptop’s off my lap and my arms are around him and _damn_ it’s been too long since we were this close. Startled, he falls to the side, and I barely manage to stop my computer from falling off the bed. Of course, I happen to resume the romantic playlist I’d been playing, and it switches over to the next song.

As the light guitar melody fills the silence, Phil smirks at me. “Care to dance?” His hand is extended, and I set the laptop down. He pulls me up from the bed and straight into his arms, and I’m smiling and trying _very_ hard not to cry. I wrap my arms around his neck and his hands find the small of my back and we’re just swaying, letting the music say what’s in our heads.

“ _I won’t give up on us, even if the skies get rough. I’m giving you all my love, I’m still looking up._ ”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, lovelies!


End file.
